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DargonZine Distributed: 2/6/2000
Volume 13, Number 1 Circulation: 719
========================================================================
Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
The Julip Tree JD Kenyon Melrin 1017
Talisman Three 1 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Fall, 748 FE
Friendships of Stone 5 Mark A. Murray Naia 6, 1015
========================================================================
DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
Please address all correspondence to or visit us
on the World Wide Web at http://www.dargonzine.org/. Back issues
are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
DargonZine 13-1, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright February, 2000 by
the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb ,
Assistant Editor: Jon Evans . All rights reserved.
All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case
of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================
Editorial
by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Back when the Web was young, everyone had a links page, and they
were a great way to navigate the Web. With fewer sites and no search
engines or Web indexes, most sites maintained pages of links to other,
related pages. The best way to find good sites was to start at a page
you knew or had heard about and navigate successive links pages to find
what you wanted.
Today the Web is comprised of over a billion individual pages. As
the Web has grown, individually-maintained links pages have given way to
more sophisticated services. Search engines are able to index the
Internet far faster than any human, and present users with lists of
pertinent Web pages in seconds. Meta-search engines such as Ask Jeeves
give the user the ability to obtain search results from several search
engines at once. Portals and "vortals" serve as targetted gateways to
sites dealing with specific topics. And in an updated twist on links
pages, sites like About.com and AOL have organized communities that sift
the Internet, ferreting out the best sites for their focus area.
Amongst such well-organized competition, one has to ask whether
individual links pages make any sense anymore. If you want your links
page to be valuable, you need to spend a lot of time finding the best
sites on the Internet, evaluating new ones that might be added. You also
need to make sure that the sites already on the list are regularly
updated and haven't moved, disappearred, or been abandoned. Links pages
can still be useful ways to navigate the Internet (as the success of
About.com demonstrates), but in order to be valuable to Web surfers they
also require a lot of attention and maintenance. And even then, your
page may just duplicate information that users can find more easily
elsewhere.
At DargonZine, we've maintained a links page for several years. It
has always received only light use, and we haven't given it the
attention needed to keep it up-to-date. We had links to a handful of
great sites in four categories: electronic magazines, writing, fantasy
and fandom, and medieval studies. However, we found that others did a
better job of indexing those topics, and that we wanted to spend our
energy on writing stories, not indexing the Internet. So when we looked
at our links page, we came to the conclusion that it wasn't highly
valued by our readers, and wasn't serving our organizational goal of
helping aspiring writers improve.
The following services will help you find sites of interest far
more effectively than our old links page did. For search engines,
Yahoo!, Alta Vista, and Google are all excellent, and for sites where
guides compile the best links for specific communities, we suggest
About.com (which used to be known as the Mining Company).
We hope you understand the reasoning behind the dismantling of our
links page. And we hope that you will agree with us that neither our
readers nor our writers come to the DargonZine site looking for links;
they come looking for fiction, and we can provide plenty of that!
This issue is a great example of the fiction that brings people to
our site. It contains another new story from JD Kenyon, who debuted in
our previous issue, as well as the beginning of the fourth block of
stories in Dafydd's epic "Talisman" series. It also features the
conclusion of the "Friendships of Stone" series begun by Mark Murray
back in September 1997.
This issue also marks the beginning of our sixteenth year on the
Internet. Refer to the Editorial in DargonZine 12-12 for a retrospective
of how we got here and where we plan to go in our sixteenth year and
beyond.
But our immediate future holds another great issue featuring the
continuation of "Talisman Three" as well as stories from two brand new
writers. Look for those stories in DargonZine 13-2, which will follow
this issue by just a couple weeks.
========================================================================
The Julip Tree
by JD Kenyon
Melrin 1017
Darienne stared across the room at the man who would become her
husband in less than a sennight, and shuddered inwardly. Lord Guston
Daeton was engaged in quiet conversation with Duke Clifton Dargon at the
head table, reserved for the elite guests. She knew that she was the
subject on his lips because his eyes would meet hers fleetingly each
time he looked up, and the duke had made a point of turning his head in
her direction. She squirmed on the bench and averted her gaze. There was
a spicy-smelling feast spread on the table in front of her: platters of
sliced roast pheasant and boar, bowls of steaming kale and honey-glazed
carrots, as well as freshly baked breads and richly matured cheeses. The
servants of the keep flitted between the tables replenishing wine and
ale and were now serving crusty fruit tarts for dessert. Darienne lifted
her goblet and sipped slowly, her appetite for food overwhelmed by a
feeling of misery.
"We all envy you." Darienne turned sharply to the young woman at
her side who had gushed these words enthusiastically.
"You *envy* me?" she said with a degree of skepticism as she took
in her youthful dinner companion's pert little mouth and vapid blue
eyes. There was a sudden lull in the conversation as the other young
women at the table inclined their heads in her direction.
"You're to be married to Lord Daeton, aren't you?" The woman was in
fact no more than a girl dressed up for her evening out with Dargon's
aristocracy -- her face flushed with naivety and her head filled with
imagined romance.
"Regretfully so," Darienne said bluntly -- and noticed their eyes
widen. She knew what it sounded like. It was callous and an insult to
someone of Daeton's stature, but she did not care if everyone in Dargon
knew that she felt resentment. After a brief pause, the women around her
started their twittering and snickering again. Darienne shifted sideways
on the bench, looking for Melly, her chaperone, and stifled a sigh.
Their small party had arrived at the keep less than a bell before,
and instead of being shown to their rooms, her father's envoy had
scuttled away and left her in the care of the steward. The six-day
journey from Hawksbridge had taken its toll and Darienne had longed to
change out of her traveling clothes, have a wash and retire to bed.
Instead, the overbearing steward had insisted that she join the feast,
leaving Melly to make the necessary room arrangements. Darienne had been
compelled to follow the steward down the winding staircase from the
guest quarters to the keep's great room. The lavishly adorned room was
alive with chatter and laughter, with the melodic background strains of
a jongleur entertaining Duke Dargon's diners.
The first time she had seen Guston Daeton he was leaning heavily on
his cane in the shadows of the great room, talking to her father's
envoy. He had paused to look at her, and she had felt as if she was
being inventoried by his brooding stare. She had matched his gaze, her
lips set tight and her eyes flaring the unspoken bitterness in her
heart. It had felt as if there were a hundred eyes in the room glancing
over her as she had waited in the doorway, the guests suspended over
their meals as they ogled the late intrusion. In that moment she had
despised her father even more for having agreed to this marriage and had
felt deeply humiliated at the thought of being paraded for all to see.
Worse -- Daeton had made no move in her direction. Instead, he had
stopped a passing servant and had issued his instructions. Soon she had
found herself seated at a table with several of the young ladies from
Dargon -- the same women who now ignored her, just occasionally flicking
an incredulous look in her direction.
There was still no sign of Melly, and Darienne was forced to stare
down at the goblet in front of her and fiddle with the lace on her dress
as she continued to distance herself from the company around her. A
masculine voice at her side startled her.
"Would you care for a walk in the garden?"
She turned and looked up into the face of her future husband. This
close she could see the dark intensity of his eyes, the hard lines of
his nose and lips and the shadow of beard growth darkening his firm jaw.
A brief fluttering of unease gripped her insides as she extended her
hand wordlessly and stood up. The ladies around the table had ceased
their conversations, and in the growing quiet, she could hear the
clunk-clunk of Daeton's cane as they crossed the stone floor to the
exit.
As they descended the stairs, she had to pause and slow her pace to
his. It was obvious from his tight-set lips that his leg pained with
each step on the narrow staircase, and they descended without a word.
Her mother had told her that Daeton had been badly wounded in the war --
almost crippled. He would never recover, but was sufficiently propertied
and titled for her father to have deemed this "a worthy match" for his
youngest daughter. She recalled how her aging parents, who had been
discussing her future with growing concern, were delighted when the
unexpected marriage proposal had arrived. Daeton had not delivered it in
person -- in fact, she had never met him before coming to Dargon.
Instead, he had acted through an intermediary: a merchantman who was an
acquaintance of his and an infrequent visitor to her father's household.
The prospect of having to pay very little in the way of a dowry was
an added benefit for her father's ailing fortunes, but Darienne had felt
betrayed. Both her sisters had married early, when the family's wealth
and their noble stature were still in their favor. Many years had passed
and successive seasons of failed crops and unwise decisions had left the
coffers bare. Added to that, Darienne's sharp tongue and keen wit had
discouraged the few would-be suitors, despite her mother's implored
pleas for her daughter to be less headstrong and unyielding. For
Darienne, the men were either passive and mindless, or brash and
aggressive. She had repeatedly expressed the view that a lifetime of
loneliness was preferable to marriage with either kind. This was
probably why, without as much as a consultation, her father had merely
informed her that he had a husband for her. That had been less than a
month ago, and here she was, with a crippled stranger at her side.
Leafless vines twisted and curled over the archway that led into
the garden. As they stepped onto the pebbled pathway beneath it,
Darienne realized that the evening air around them was crisp, a sign
that winter had not yet fully yielded its grasp on the land. She could
feel Daeton's firm hand under her elbow and the unevenness of his gait
as they continued to walk in uncomfortable silence.
"You should see this garden in its full glory." His words hardly
stirred the air and sounded as if they were wrapped in distant thoughts.
She stared about her at the lackluster foliage, naked twigs and stark
branches. The grass looked hard and dry and the shrubs bordering the
path had the same brittle quality. Hardly glorious -- but her gaze was
drawn to an imposing tree in the corner of the garden, its bare branches
silhouetted against the late afternoon sunlight.
"I've never seen a tree like that." She realized that this was the
first time she had spoken in his presence and felt a blush on her
cheeks.
"It's an uncommon tree," Daeton responded, following her gaze
upward to where the branches broke the late sunlight into soft beams. He
steered her in its direction. "It has quite a tale attached to it."
As they neared the tree, she saw that the bark on its mammoth trunk
was almost black in color, coarse and scaly, and made up of deep grooves
and ridges. High above her, the tree's gnarled limbs reached out into
the deep blue sky, their harsh starkness contrasting sharply against the
azure backdrop.
"A tree with a tale." Darienne reached out and touched the bark,
feeling its cool moistness beneath her fingertips. "Tell me about it."
"Would you mind if I sat?" Without waiting for her reply, he limped
across the path and settled on a wooden bench nearby. Darienne leaned
back against the tree, resting her hands on the hardness of the bark as
she steadied herself.
"Many years ago, Cabot Dargon, Clifton's grandfather, fell in love
with a sea merchant's daughter. It was a chance meeting. The prosperous
merchant was from a distant land and his daughter had accompanied him on
his voyage. She was radiantly beautiful, adventurous in spirit and quite
unlike any other woman Cabot had ever met. However, she was no noble and
everyone knew it. It was a very unsuitable match. Yet, the young Cabot
Dargon was so smitten that he proposed marriage within days of the
merchant's ship having anchored in the bay -- ignoring his advisors and
dismissing the public outcry. He was in love." Daeton paused and
Darienne responded with raised eyebrows and a disbelieving expression.
Daeton spoke again.
"Her father was not happy about leaving his daughter in a foreign
land. Cabot offered a generous payment for her hand and promised her
father that, as the future Duchess of Dargon, she would have status and
wealth, and a husband who adored her. Still, the people complained and,
it is said, they even jeered her in public. The young couple took to
meeting in this very garden, away from critical and prying eyes. Cabot
eased her fears with his words of love and prepared for a lavish wedding
feast, inviting guests from far and beyond."
Daeton stopped and stood up, walking back to Darienne's side
beneath the tree before he continued.
"The day of the wedding dawned. The first thing that Cabot saw when
he looked out from his turret window was that the merchant's ship was no
longer in the bay. He rushed downstairs, only to find that the merchant
and his daughter had left under cover of darkness. Shattered and
heartbroken, Cabot came to the garden to seek solitude. As he walked
along the path, he noticed that a sapling had been planted in this
corner, the freshly turned soil the only evidence that someone had been
there. He instructed his gardener to nurture the small tree. It grew
rapidly, and within three years, just about the time when Cabot had
overcome much of his grief and heartache, he awoke one day to discover
the tree in bloom." Daeton reached out and braced himself against the
coarse trunk. "To this day, once a year the tree bursts forth with a
profusion of richly perfumed purple blossoms. Cabot Dargon called it the
Julip Tree, after the woman who broke his heart."
There was a sudden silence in the garden again and Darienne
realized she had been completely absorbed and that she was staring at
the teller of the tale. Daeton's gaze settled on her and she felt a
slight flush.
"Hmmm. " She straightened brusquely and stepped aside. "An unlikely
story."
"No -- it was a real love story, even if it had a sad ending."
Daeton looked up at the tree, running his hand over the rough bark.
"Love stories involve two people." Darienne stared at the darkening
sky. "You only know Cabot Dargon's tale. Perhaps it was a happy ending.
Perhaps even her choice."
Daeton kept quiet and Darienne sensed that her words had cut
deeply. She could not help but wonder at his strangeness. He was aloof
and confident, but then there was also an intensity and sensitivity she
had never expected. He stepped back onto the path next to her. Their
arms brushed fleetingly and his sudden closeness caused her to twist her
head away.
"It's getting late and my chaperone will wonder what has happened
to me." Her words sounded as startled as she felt, still taken aback by
the rush of powerful feelings that flooded through her in that brief
moment. She turned abruptly and started to walk back to the castle,
aware that Daeton would not be able to keep pace with her. As she left
the garden, she glanced back and saw him seated on the bench beneath the
Julip tree.
The first thing she heard the next morning was Melly's urgent tone
from afar, "Mistress Darienne!" She stirred in the rumpled sheets just
in time to see her chaperone burst through the door.
"What is it?" She sat up and shoved the covers back. "Can't it
wait?" Her head was still throbbing from a troubled sleep.
"It's Lord Daeton. He wants to see you. In the garden." Melly was
panting from the exertion of the stairs and the words came in short
bursts.
Darienne leapt from the bed, stripped as hurriedly as she could and
donned her petticoats while Melly lay her pale green day dress on the
bed, then scrabbled in the trunks for matching slippers.
"Did he say why?" she asked as she slipped the dress over her head.
"A scullion brought the word just a few menes ago." Melly was
trying to comb her hair, but Darienne flicked her hand away and brushed
her own fingers through the tangle of curls instead. She caught sight of
Melly's beaming face and scowled at her.
"The man is a rogue!" she chided, not once thinking she could
actually dampen Melly's enthusiasm after the young woman had told
Darienne the previous night how thoroughly handsome and charming she
thought Lord Daeton was. To make matters worse, Darienne had been unable
to fall asleep easily -- her head filled with words and images and
feelings all churned up by a man she really wanted to despise.
"Bother and bluster!" she cursed, steeling herself inwardly for
another encounter with Guston Daeton.
A light breeze stirred and rustled in the garden as she hurried
down the pathway to where he stood waiting. In the early morning light
she noticed that the garden seemed to be awakening to the warmer days --
a tender emerald grass shoot here and there and sprigs of green in the
shrubs and trees were signs that spring had arrived. She saw with a
strange sense of delight that the Julip tree was now also covered in
delicate purple buds.
"I'm sorry that you had to wait," she said breathlessly as she drew
close.
"One learns patience when you have a failing such as mine." He said
the words matter-of-factly, pointing to his cane, but Darienne thought
there was a bemused look in his eyes. He started to stroll ahead,
leaving Darienne to clutch her skirts and follow him. After a few silent
paces, he stopped suddenly and turned to look at her.
"Do you know that when I asked about you, they described you as
*unusual*."
She felt the color sting her cheeks as the description sank in. It
would typically be what her father would have said of her, his
temperamental daughter with her odd ways and uncharacteristic looks. So
unlike the painted and powdered ladies of Dargon who had been seated
next to her last night. She looked away to hide the long-unexpressed
hurt and anger she felt. There was an awkward silence when neither of
them moved, but she sensed that he was watching her.
"They were kind to me then," she said, trying to force a flippant
tone.
"Not kind," he said, his words hanging in the air until he
continued in a lowered tone, "but not that wrong, Darienne." Her name
sounded gentle on his tongue as he reached across and tilted her chin up
with his fingers, forcing her gaze to meet his. "You are an unusually
beautiful woman. Never be ashamed of your uniqueness."
She swallowed, acutely aware of his light touch on her skin. He
dropped his hand to his side and glanced away. She stared at his
profile, the hard jaw and straight nose and the curve of his lips.
He straightened and stepped away from her side. When he spoke
again, his voice had a hard edge to it.
"I may be a cripple, but I am not blind or unfeeling," he said
through clenched teeth. "I've seen the reluctance in your eyes and
sensed your disapproval."
"Milord ..." she started, not sure what to say to the forthright
man in front of her and thinking about her callous words at the dinner
table. He paused before facing her again.
"Perhaps what I have been is a fool." His tone was tinged with
regret. He adjusted his footing and she noticed that the knuckles
gripping his cane were white. "I suppose that I wanted a wife who would
not see my limitations, but find comfort in my strengths."
Darienne kept her eyes downcast but could feel the blood pounding
in her ears and knew that her breathing had quickened.
"That is the reason why I have decided to release you from this
marriage obligation." The words, when he uttered them, were unexpected.
It was what she had wanted to hear, but somehow it seemed unreal.
"Lord Daeton, I ..." she stammered, not sure of what she was trying
to say. She realized her father would lay the blame at her door, and
rightly so. Daeton, too, had every right to be angry with her.
"I will make it clear that it is my choice and see that there is no
shame in it for you." It was as if he had read her thoughts. He glanced
across at the Julip tree and spoke again in a rueful tone.
"I suppose you could say that I am anchoring a ship in the bay for
you."
In the moment that stretched between them, "Thank you, milord," was
as much as Darienne could muster.
Sunlight streamed in through the window as Melly thudded and
clumped around the room, folding clothes and moving their trunks out of
the way. Three tumultuous days had passed. Darienne pulled the drapes
aside and looked out over the garden, now jacketed in bright spring
blossoms and filled with the tittering of joyful birdsong.
She remembered how she had returned to the garden alone later that
day, drawn to the strange tree in the corner. She had picked one of the
tiny Julip buds and was caressing it in her hands, its scented tender
petals half unfurled and already showing a hint of deep violet. In that
moment, she had marveled at how the little bud was an assurance of color
and fragrance that would transform the hardness and ugliness of the
Julip tree. She had twirled around in the warm sunshine and watched the
blossom glide gently from her fingers, surprised to find thoughts of
love drifting into her mind. Then she had meandered back to the keep,
pausing to smell the fragrant blooms and touch the fresh green sprigs
along the way.
"You look truly beautiful, Mistress Darienne." Melly's cheerful
voice brought her back to the present as she fussed about at her
mistress's side, straightening the pleats of the rich cream brocade and
pulling the bodice tighter. "You are such a radiant bride!"
Darienne smiled and hoped that Guston would find her beautiful too.
In less than a bell, they would be man and wife. She trusted her
instinct that he would be a wise and caring husband. After all, she
suspected that he had known all along that unless she chose him freely
she would never be able to truly love him. She reached up and adjusted
the tendrils in her hair, carefully tucking the fragrant Julip blossoms
into the dark red curls.
========================================================================
Talisman Three
Part 1
by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
Fall, 748 FE
Author's Note: This segment of the Talisman Saga begins
approximately 420 years after Talisman Two in a portion of the
continent of Duurom that has all but forgotten the Fretheod
Empire. Called Farevlin, which means 'thousand lands', it is
made up of hundreds and hundreds of tiny kingdoms, dukedoms,
city-states, and autonomous towns, some no larger than an
average crossroads village. While Farevlin shares a common
language, background, and legends of unity, each state within
the area tends toward fierce individuality. Even so, there are
always people who prefer the legends to the present day.
The curtain opened, revealing a painted backdrop of a forest. The
crowd that had gathered in front of the stage quieted in anticipation.
The stage that now occupied the corner of the market square had been
quickly and sturdily erected not more than two bells ago, which showed
that the troupe -- Torenda's Troupe, as the proscenium proclaimed --
were professionals. But no one in Tilting Falls had ever heard of
Torenda or her troupe before, and all were curious to see what was about
to take place before them.
Two people walked into view from stage left. They were dressed in
tunics and baggy leggings and had swords belted over red tabards. They
walked to the middle of the stage, looking around themselves wide-eyed.
As they reached the center of the stage, they stopped advancing,
though their legs kept moving as if they were continuing to walk. As
their forward motion ceased, the backdrop started to move instead,
increasing the illusion of movement over just the mimed walking. Some in
the audience laughed in wonder at the clever trick.
The downstage figure asked, "Are you sure we followed the
directions properly, Samad?"
The upstage figure, Samad, said, "Absolutely, Dirik. I followed
every turn just like we was told. I don't know why we haven't found the
stag's glen in the Forest of Hawks. The forest must have moved or
something."
The audience laughed weakly, but it wasn't much of a joke -- more
of a pun on the moving backdrop, after all. Dirik said, "Well, if we're
lost then how are we going to find Sir Mefes? We went to a lot of risk
pilfering this jewel --" Dirik held up a large gold disk studded with
sparkling gems of various hues, "-- from Narial's temple, and we aren't
going to get paid unless we get it to Sir Mefes."
"What do you mean, 'we'?" Samad said heatedly as he stopped his
mimed walking in an exaggerated manner. Dirik ceased moving his legs
too, but the backdrop continued to move for a bit. The audience laughed
as both characters looked at the moving backdrop with exaggerated anger,
and Samad stomped loudly. The backdrop stopped, started, stopped again,
and then reversed its motion for several moments, as if returning to
where it should have stopped in the first place. It stopped again, but
the characters on stage waited for a beat or two, as if to be sure it
was going to stay where it was. It did. They nodded to each other in
satisfaction, and continued with their lines as the audience's chuckles
faded.
Samad repeated, "What do you mean, 'we'? *I* stole that jewel from
the coffers of the temple, while *you* played 'hide the offering' with
that cute slip of a temple maiden." The audience roared. "The only risk
you took," Samad continued, "was of exhaustion."
Dirik defended himself with, "Well, someone had to divert her
attention, and Narial *is* the goddess of lust, after all. It was the
natural thing to do."
"Yeah, so why is it that you always get to do the natural thing
when it is fun, and I get to do the natural thing when it is disgusting
or dangerous?"
The characters turned to face stage right again and started to
walk. The backdrop started up right on cue as Dirik replied, "Just
lucky, I guess." Samad shook his head resignedly as the audience
chuckled again.
The two thieves walked in silence for a few moments, and slowly,
normal forest sounds began to be heard. Bird calls, rustling leaves, and
the chittering of small animals sounded from backstage. Dirik looked
around with a smile on his face and said, "Well, at least it's a nice
day for a walk in the woods."
Samad continued to be grumpy and answered with, "Never did like the
woods. Can't see more than a couple of yards in any direction. Even the
paths twist and turn too much, and don't provide much better
visibility."
Dirik said, "You worry too much, Samad. What do we need to see far
for anyway?"
"To see where Sir Mefes is, for one," Samad said darkly. "And for
another, to see wild animals far enough away to have time to hide from
them."
"What wild animals?"
"Boars. Or bears, even."
"Bears?" asked Dirik. "Do you think there are really bears in these
woods, Samad?"
Samad sighed and said, "With your luck, Dirik, probably not.
Probably not."
Just then, a roar sounded from stage left. No one in the audience
had ever heard a bear, but that certainly sounded like the noise they
thought a bear would make. Everyone glanced to their left, and some even
looked a little worried.
The two characters looked over their shoulders and shouted oaths in
fear. Samad turned back around and said, "Of all the times for your
cursed luck to fail, Dirik. I dare say that this is Narial's fault --
her temple maiden probably thought she didn't get her bell's worth of
pleasure or something. I hope our legs are better than our luck. Run,
Dirik, run!"
The two characters accelerated stage right and the audience
naturally looked stage left to see what was chasing the two thieves.
They clearly expected a stage prop of some kind: a bearskin hung on a
cross-pole perhaps, or someone in a brown tunic with a mask on, or maybe
something clever or innovative, like the moving backdrop.
None of them were expecting what they actually saw, and when the
roaring, angry bear walked out of the stage left wings, three quarters
of the audience gasped in genuine fright. It stood half again as tall as
a man and was twice as wide. It had brown, shaggy fur, huge claws and
teeth, and small, angry-looking eyes. It lumbered after the two fleeing
thieves who were just disappearing into the stage right wings.
By the time it reached center stage, pursuing the characters and
not reacting at all to the screams from the audience, most people
realized it was a clever trick of some kind, or maybe a very
well-trained real bear. The few who had started to run stopped and
turned back in wonder. The bear stopped in the middle of the stage and
roared. The backdrop continued to move, and the bear batted at it,
giving a coughing grunt and stomping its paw. The backdrop stopped, and
the bear turned its head toward the audience and winked, slow and broad,
making them titter nervously, then laugh louder in relief. The bear
turned back to stage right and with another roar, it lumbered after its
prey.
The moment it vanished into the wings, stage right, two screams of
fear rang out, followed by sounds of general mayhem. Men shouting,
pleading, screaming, a bear roaring, ripping sounds, thuds of bodies,
all so exaggerated that the audience started laughing again after a
nervous moment of hesitation. When the arm came flying out, trailing
blood, the audience roared. The mayhem continued for some time, with an
occasional limb flying out onto the stage until there were more parts
than any two people could have had between them lying about.
Another figure walked onstage from stage left. He was tall and
handsome, clad from head to foot in chain mail -- coif, hauberk, and
leggings. A large sword hung at his side, and a shield, painted red,
hung at his back. He reached center stage and turned to the audience. He
didn't seem to notice or react to the commotion still coming from stage
right, nor did he acknowledge the body parts strewn around the stage.
"Excuse me," he said. "I'm Sir Mefes, and I seem to have misplaced
two of my hirelings. Perchance, might you have seen them?"
The audience knew what was expected of them at this kind of moment
in this kind of play. Somewhat raggedly but mostly in unison, they
nodded.
"By the Creaking Knee of Bovish, I knew they'd get it wrong!" Sir
Mefes stormed, looking at the stage and stomping his foot. Behind him,
the backdrop shifted hesitantly to the left, then back again. The
audience cackled.
Sir Mefes looked up and said, "I told them to meet me in the Forest
Stag Inn in the village of Hawk's Glen. How could they have twisted that
around to end up here?"
The cue was unmistakable; there was only one reply and the person
on stage was waiting for it. Without any hesitation at all, most of the
audience chorused, "I don't know."
"Neither do I," said Sir Mefes. "I don't suppose they had Norla
with them, did they?"
"No," replied much of the audience, while others just shook their
heads. Then, a few loud members piped up with, "They had a jewel!" to
which others added their voices belatedly, causing the sentence to echo
around the audience for a few moments.
In the spirit of the form, and as if he had heard it only once, and
not a score or more times, Sir Mefes replied, "Right, a shining jewel,
with golden hair and violet eyes: my daughter, Norla. I sent them to
take her from the Temple of Narial and bring her back to me. How
difficult could that have been -- she was the only one there at the
time?"
The audience shook their heads, and the boisterous, loud few said,
"A real gold jewel, not Norla."
"Damn them to Perda's Outhouse! But I should have suspected they'd
get that wrong, too. All right, do you know where they are now?"
"Over there," everyone said, pointing stage right.
Sir Mefes seemed to notice the noise from off stage for the first
time. He pointed stage right and asked, "There?"
The audience nodded, and said, "There. Bear."
Sir Mefes sighed, and said, "I suppose I should rescue them,
shouldn't I?"
The audience nodded again.
"Very well, I'll be right back. Thank you for your help, you've
been very kind." Sir Mefes turned and started walking towards the
ruckus, giving the audience a little wave as he left.
As the knight left the stage, the commotion changed. No more
screams sounded -- instead, it was the bear who sounded in pain. Furry
limbs flew onto the stage, and the audience cheered. The battle was soon
over, and presently all three characters returned to the stage, none of
them any the worse for wear. Sir Mefes walked between the two thieves
and shouted at them for being blundering fools, while Dirik tried to
give him the gem-studded golden jewel, and Samad just mumbled something
dark about luck.
The three kept walking across the stage, and exited stage left. The
curtain closed on the audience's applause, but the stage outside the
curtain didn't stay empty for long. Even before the applause had died
away, a woman walked onto stage from behind the curtain. She wore a
bliaut and underdress which were both sewn together from scraps of cloth
of all shapes, sizes, and hues.
"I'm here to keep your attention," she announced in an animated and
cheerful voice, "while my apprentices pass among you with tins in which
you can place representations of your appreciation of our skit in the
form of any coin you think it was worth."
Two more women, dressed in tunics and leggings like men, appeared
at either edge of the crowd carrying tins. They began to work their way
through the standing audience, one working from the front, the other
from the back.
The woman on stage continued, "Now, for my other apprentices --
Janile's Pack of Stretch-Rats." From both sides of the stage boiled
half-a-dozen ferrets, all dashing across the boards toward Janile. As
the stretch-rats scrambled up her skirts and under her bliaut, the
audience laughed and handed over their coin in payment for the
entertaining show they had just witnessed.
In a cave many miles from Tilting Falls, a man stood before a room
full of kneeling people dressed in simple robes of undyed linen. For a
cave, it was a very comfortable room. Only the uneven rock of the
ceiling betrayed its lithic origins; wood covered the floor, and the
walls were smooth like plaster and painted a light tan color. There were
three doors in the room: one on the wall the man faced, and two on his
left. The only other furniture in the room at the moment was the ornate
stone table that rested behind him. Lamps affixed to the walls provided
plenty of light.
That man was named Zarilt, and the people arrayed before him were
his students. As such, they called him Tchad, which meant 'teacher' in
an ancient dialect. It was a term of respect that Zarilt had finally
come to accept without undue embarrassment.
The door Zarilt faced opened and two figures entered. Both were
dressed in the same kind of robe as the kneeling people, but one wore
the hood up and the other had a blue belt tied at the waist. Zarilt
gazed serenely at the two as they walked up the aisle between the
kneeling people and stopped in front of him.
"Welcome, aspirant Kersh." The one with the blue-belted robe, a
fresh-faced young man with plain features and brown eyes, bowed
slightly, nervously, when he was addressed.
"And welcome to you as well, Virrila," said Zarilt in his rich,
deep voice that filled the cavern room easily. The hooded one bowed in
response. Zarilt continued, "You have undertaken to sponsor aspirant
Kersh, and have seen to his education in our Way. Do you judge him
ready? Has he learned what has been taught?"
A low voice came from the hood, echoing the nod with, "He is ready,
Tchad."
"Do you feel yourself ready to become a student of our Way,
aspirant Kersh?"
Still nervous, Kersh stammered, "Y-yes, Tchad."
Smiling like an indulgent uncle, Zarilt lowered his voice and
whispered, "Now, Kersh, there's nothing to be nervous about. We're not
like some of those death cults I'm sure you've heard about. If, by some
chance, you are not ready to join us, or you decide you do not want to
join us, you will be free to try again or leave as you wish. We will
even provide an escort back to Bluebell Rock.
"So, take a few deep breaths and steady your nerves, all right? I'm
sure that Virrila has done her job as well with you as she always does."
"Yes, teacher, ah, sorry, Tchad. I ... I'm more excited than
nervous, I think."
Zarilt looked out over his students, giving Kersh time to calm
down. More young people than old knelt before him, but that was only to
be expected. There were people from all over the thousand states of
Farevlin, and some from the even wilder land of Drigalit to the south.
Only a few of the many faces before him shone with the serenity he
endeavored to teach, but that didn't discourage him. He only provided
the philosophy of his Way, and an example of it. His students were
encouraged to learn his Way at their own paces. That he had been able to
teach anyone the serenity he possessed made all of the difficulties
worthwhile.
Zarilt looked back at Kersh, and found the young man calmer. He
pitched his voice to the room again, and asked, "Aspirant Kersh, what is
our Way?"
"Ah ... your Way is serenity, Tchad Zarilt," answered Kersh.
"And serenity comes from where?"
"From within, Tchad."
"How, aspirant?"
"Serenity comes from within through simplicity, Tchad," recited
Kersh. He didn't quite understand it, but Virrila had told him that
understanding would come in time.
"How, aspirant?"
Kersh's mind stumbled, thinking that the Tchad had somehow read his
thoughts about a lack of understanding. Then he remembered the litany he
had memorized, and recalled the correct response. "Tchad, simplicity
requires a break from the mundane world. Simplicity requires freedom.
Simplicity is found here, in the Treasury of Farevlin. Simplicity gives
us time to reflect and to find the serenity within each of us."
"Very good, aspirant," said Zarilt, his face almost glowing with
pleasure and serenity. "Now, do you understand what you have recited?"
His heart hammering, Kersh searched his memory for the proper
response. None came to him. The litany he had memorized was finished,
yet there were more questions being asked. What was he to do? He
recalled Virrila telling him that serenity came from truth, and so he
gave the Tchad the truth.
"Well, no, Tchad."
"Few among my students do as yet, aspirant. But tell me, do you
accept that the understanding will come, with time and effort on your
part?"
Zarilt watched Kersh think. His Way was no secret, and yet he was
not flooded with aspirants. Not everyone understood his Way, and even
fewer were willing to give up everything they knew, everything they had
been taught by their parents and friends, to see if there really was
meaning behind the words of the Way. Those that glimpsed that meaning
journeyed to his caves, the ancient Treasury of Farevlin, where they
were tutored in the rudiments of the Way. But to follow the Way required
a commitment, and now it was Kersh's turn to decide if he would accept
that commitment.
Finally, Kersh looked up at the teacher, the Tchad, and said, "Yes,
I do think that understanding is available, and I am willing to try to
grasp that understanding and find what the Way means to me."
"Then remove the blue belt of mundane concerns and take your place
among my students. Be welcome here, Kersh."
Applause rose from the kneeling students as Kersh untied his belt
and handed it to Zarilt. Virrila lowered her hood, revealing to Kersh
her strong-featured face and long black hair for the first time. Kersh
had come to know Virrila only by her words and actions, and he found it
odd to only now be associating a face with the person.
Kersh and Virrila clasped arms, and she led him to an open spot in
the front ranks of the students. Those near the open spot congratulated
Kersh on his wise decision, accepting him into their number immediately
and totally. Zarilt waited a few moments for the rejoicing to die down
before he continued the ceremony.
"Now, my students, before Kersh is shown to his new living space
and you all introduce yourselves to him, let me begin his teaching the
same way I began the teaching of every one of you.
"Once I had a life out in the world, like each of you once had and
may again. But I found that I was never happy, never truly, fully happy
in that life. When my Uncle Taddis, the previous Treasurer, died, I was
his only heir. So, I was removed from my former life and introduced to
one that allowed me time for deep contemplation. And out of that
contemplation came the Way.
"I must say first that I am no prophet. I speak for no religion or
god. My Way is available to any who can come to understand my words. Few
of you worship the Wheel as do I, yet several of you have found the
serenity of the Way as I have. You only need to understand the Way.
"Out in the world, you have all been taught that happiness comes
from others. If you are a good son or daughter, or a good father or
mother, you can find happiness. If you please your master -- whether
that master be your parents, the person you are apprenticed to, the
person who pays your wages, the person for whom you farm your land --
you will be happy. If you own enough property, whether land or goods,
you will be as good as or better than your peers, and you will be happy.
"All I can say to those lessons you have learned is that they are
false.
"Happiness can only come from within. You are the only one who can
make you happy. Happiness comes from simplicity, the simplicity you will
find here as I did. Here, you owe no one fealty, you owe no one work or
money. Here you will do your share of the work that needs to be done to
support us all, and no more. Here you will find happiness in the
simplicity of your new lives. And from happiness comes serenity.
Serenity is our Way.
"Let go of the concerns of the outside world. Forget power. Forget
material goods. Forget position. Forget politics. Concentrate on
yourself, understand yourself, and understand the Way. Once you have
accomplished this, once you have let the lessons of your life go and
accepted the Way, you will find the same serenity that I have."
The students of the Way began applauding. Zarilt brought his hands
together and bowed deeply to them, and then turned his back, dismissing
them. As they filed out of the cavernous room, he contemplated the five
items laid out on the top of the stone table, situated almost altar-like
in front of him. These were the only items contained within the
Treasury. These were the sum total of his charge, the purpose of his
position. But no longer the only purpose he served here.
Three of the objects had names and legends: the Chalice of Oronhil;
Hekorivas, the Scepter of Unity; and the Orb of Sdanyip.
The other two were unnamed. One of these was an oak branch carved
from amber. It was an exquisite piece of work and looked just like a
real branch of oak, except that it bore a leaf bud, an acorn flower, a
fully grown leaf, and a ripe acorn all at the same time. Because of
this, Zarilt suspected that it was an icon of some nature religion,
perhaps from a sect of his own religion of the Wheel.
While Zarilt had no knowledge of how the amber oak had come to
reside in the Treasury, the last object in his care had a history, if no
legends, associated with it. It had been left as payment for help that a
former Treasurer had provided in a time of need to some nomads who
called themselves Siizhayip.
That object was obviously incomplete, perhaps broken. It was a
stone sculpture of some kind bearing the figures of a cat and a falcon,
along with some intricately interwoven bands of three different
materials that filled the inner portion of the piece. It looked like
about one third of a larger piece, judging from the smooth, arced edge
and the other two jaggedly torn edges, shaping the whole into a large
wedge of a disk of some kind. The three materials that the bands were
made of were some kind of silver metal, some kind of gold-colored metal,
and one made of glass. The glass band originated from the center of the
falcon, and the silver band originated from the center of the cat.
Zarilt turned from his charges and found the room behind him empty.
He hoped that Kersh would succeed in his quest for serenity. His Way was
not for everyone: for every student he had at the moment, he had lost
five since he decided to spread his message. But he wasn't worried. He
didn't see his mission as one of numbers of people enlightened, but
rather one of spreading his vision.
And, of course, living his serenity for all to see.
The common room of the Headless Sheep Inn in Tilting Falls was full
to bursting that evening. Over half of the patrons crowding the room
were members of Torenda's Troupe. Most of the other half had seen at
least one of the three skits that the Troupe had put on that afternoon
in Tilting Falls' market square.
The early part of the evening had consisted of the residents of the
town reveling in being able to rub elbows with the troupe that had so
entertained them. The troupe had been toasted and congratulated, and not
one of them had to pay for the food and drink they were consuming -- at
least, not in coin. They did, however, have to endure being cornered
time and time again by townsfolk eager to inform them of their favorite
moments, reliving the afternoon's entertainments in excruciating detail.
It was fairly obvious to the entire troupe that Tilting Falls had
experienced a dearth of performers for quite some time.
Eventually, though, the townsfolk gathered into their normal
groupings to eat or drink, and only occasionally glance over at a table
of players and then excitedly tell their table companions yet again how
good some part of the skits had been. This allowed the troupe to do much
the same, glancing over at the townspeople and remarking on their odd
tastes in clothing or applied scent -- or lack thereof -- or whether
their own parts had been more favored by a table of people. This was all
done very quietly, of course; the troupe was planning at least two more
days in the market square, and it wouldn't do to anger the potential
customers.
At one table in the back, well-buffered from the townsfolk by a
layer of players' tables, sat most of the people who ran the troupe.
Bifrorlani was the owner and leader of Torenda's Troupe, having
inherited it from Torenda when she retired. It was common knowledge that
Orla ran the troupe far better than Torenda had, and it was only the
reputation of Torenda's Troupe that kept Orla from giving in to the
suggestions to change its name.
Orla was in her late thirties and had been with Torenda's Troupe as
actor, assistant manager, and then owner, for most of her life. She was
a plump woman, but had a bearing that usually kept people from noticing
her ample waistline. She had raven-black hair, pale skin and mismatched
eyes -- the left was blue while the right was brown. One of the several
earrings she wore in her left ear was a small blue disk bearing a silver
symbol: two pairs of two concentric ovals set cross-wise to each other
and interlaced. The small disk, less than an ebbit across and thus
smaller than the nail of her smallest finger, echoed a larger,
hands-width version of the same design tattooed on her right hip.
Next to her sat Aborkendo, a leading man in the Troupe as well as
their carpenter. Kend was swarthy-skinned, with brown hair and eyes, and
the bearing of a leading man -- handsome and well aware of it. But he
was also an accomplished carpenter and wood carver, and had no qualms
about putting in his fair share of the work at what some might consider
the more demeaning jobs that were required backstage.
As usual, Kend was carving a small figurine with a small-bladed
knife. Such was his skill that the rodent that was emerging from the
small stick seemed almost lifelike.
Hanging from his right ear, one of only two earrings he wore, was
the same kind of small blue disk that Orla wore. His left hip also bore
the same kind of tattoo.
Sitting across from the first two was Elianijit, the Troupe's stage
manager and scene blocker. Elin was fair of skin, with chestnut brown
hair and dark grey eyes. She not only made sure that props, sets, and
even actors were where they belonged during a production, she was also
quite capable of creating an entire skit from scratch as well as
starring in it.
Elin's left ear was decorated by a blue-disk earring; her right
hip, by a blue-disk tattoo.
There was one more person in the room who had an absolutely vital
part in running the troupe: Odonornaka, the Troupe's lead musician, was
sitting by the main fireplace and entertaining the room with her music.
Naka was a very pretty young woman, with long blond hair and grass-green
eyes. Her most striking feature was her nose, which, despite its large
size, was well-shaped and only enhanced her beauty.
Naka was proficient in a large number of musical styles on a wide
range of instruments, some of which she had invented herself. She
composed almost all of the music that the Troupe used, and it was her
job to teach and to lead the four other musicians that the Troupe
employed.
Naka also wore the blue-with-interlaced-ovals earring and tattoo.
The earring in her right ear was the newest of the four, though all were
equally clean and polished. The tattoo on her left hip was even newer
than that; she had made her place in the relationship official with that
tattoo only three months before, though she had been wearing the earring
for a year.
The three around the table had been discussing the day's
performances for the past two tankards, and were almost finished.
Discussing the first skit about the bear in the woods, Kend asked, "Was
the bear realistic enough, do you think?"
Orla responded, "Judging by the reaction of the crowd -- and that's
what counts, after all -- it was perfect. I mean, did you see how many
actually started to run?"
"Oh yes, the bear, the bear," said an older man as he came over to
the table. "You're talking about my bear ... our bear. It was great,
wasn't it, Kend? They were scared out of their wits! I just love how
that trick gets them every time."
The newcomer was named Githanjul, and he was the Troupe's
illusionist and mechanic. While his contributions to the Troupe were not
absolutely necessary, items like the moving backdrop and the bear
illusion certainly added a certain spark to even the most average skit
in their repertoire. The four Troupe leaders often considered him as
indispensable as any one of themselves.
Thanj was tall and slight, which made him look frail and older than
he was. His hair was strawberry-blond streaked with grey, and his wispy
yellow beard that kept mostly to the point of his chin only enhanced the
illusion of advanced years. His eyes, though, were sharp and keen, their
brown depths alive with alert intelligence.
His ears and hips were bare of relationship symbols, and many among
the Troupe wondered if he had ever been that close to anyone. No matter
how friendly and outgoing the illusionist was, there was always
something hidden about him that kept people from getting too close.
Kend said, "Yep, Thanj, as usual, your illusion was superb."
"Oh, now," said Thanj, "you know as well as I that I didn't do it
all myself." Thanj reached into the pouch at his side and withdrew a
small carving of a bear standing on its hind legs. "Without your
carving, Kend, that bear wouldn't have been half so realistic."
"Well, thank you, thank you" said Kend as everyone enthused about
his carving. "So, Thanj, should I carve some different bears, or can you
vary this illusion beyond the model?"
"Oh, ah ... I don't think you need to carve me any more bears,
Kend. I can stretch this illusion enough to make them look different if
we need to."
Thanj put the bear figurine away, and withdrew another object from
his belt pouch. "Oh, you've all got to see this. It's a new one; I've
been working on it for quite a while." He held in his hand a metal cone
about five ebbits tall and two-and-a-half ebbits wide at the base. It
was hollow, and had some kind of spidery carvings, almost like writing,
on the outside.
"Another choreographed illusion, Thanj?" asked Orla. "What is it
this time?"
"Just you wait!" he said as he leapt up and made his way to the
fireplace where Naka was playing. He whispered in her ear, then knelt
down and spun the cone so that it twirled on its tip on the hearth in
front of Naka. He then slipped back to the table, grinning from ear to
ear. Only the people at the table had noticed him moving.
The cone spun for a few more moments, and then suddenly flipped
over, coming to a complete halt pointing straight up. Just as suddenly,
a dancing figure appeared where there had been a cone. Naka changed the
music she was playing, her notes fitting perfectly to the movements of
Thanj's illusory dancer.
At the abrupt change in music, most of the other people in the room
turned to look at Naka. They saw the dancer, and murmurs of appreciation
went up from almost every table. The illusion was perfect, and Naka was
playing perfectly too, so that no one else knew that the beautiful,
scantily-clad woman dancing on the hearth wasn't real.
Her arms moved sinuously, but not as smoothly as her stomach and
hips. She didn't move away from the spot where the cone had stopped, but
she lifted her feet one after the other, shifting her hips, leaning
sideways and backwards, arching her chest out, rocking her head back and
forth. She even seemed to breathe in the middle of her dance movements.
Elin watched for several moments, then said, "I remember her!"
Thanj turned to her, his grin getting even wider. "Did I get her
right? I think so, but I can't really be sure."
"Oh, you did a fine job, Thanj. A fine job!" said Elin.
"You have some memory, though," said Kend. "We saw Prancha dance
what, a year and a half ago? Two years?"
"Thank you, thank you. Yes, for some things my memory is useful."
Thanj stared not at his illusion, but at the people watching his
illusion, drinking in their appreciation of his craft.
Eventually, the image of the dancing woman vanished, the illusion
played out. The players in the room knew what had happened immediately,
and started calling out praises to Thanj. The townsfolk, however, were
very greatly confused by the disappearing woman, and the noise level in
the room increased dramatically as they all speculated endlessly about
just who or what had been dancing on the hearth.
Kend said, "You know, Thanj, if you could get those special
illusions to move away from their source, you wouldn't need my carvings
anymore."
"Oh, no, Kend," said Thanj, "no, no, no. My choreographed illusions
cannot react at all to what is going on around them, while the person
carrying your carving with my illusion on it can move around, act,
react, do anything, and still look like the thing your carving is. No,
even if I could ever get my special illusions to move, your carvings
would still be just as required as ever."
Kend smiled, and said, "Thank you. I suppose you're right." Thanj
nodded, and left to retrieve his cone, while Kend went back to working
on the rodent he was carving. It looked something like a rabbit, and
something like a squirrel, and something like a ferret, and despite
looking in parts like all three of those animals it also looked like it
was just a dusting of magic away from coming to life.
Elin asked, as she usually did, "So, when can we put on one of the
serious plays, Orla?"
With the cadence of a well-rehearsed speech, Orla replied, "You
know as well as I do, Elin, that to do a serious play we need a proper
theater. No one wants to watch a tragedy while standing in a market
square. They just won't stay around long enough to get it. People who
are likely to set aside their daily business for a time to watch one of
our skits want diversion, not depth and plot. They want comedy, they
want absurdity, mayhem, and, above all, stretch-rats. You devise me a
skit with drama and pathos *and* gamboling stretch-rats, and I'll
seriously consider putting it into our market-square repertoire."
Everyone around the table laughed on cue, and some of the players
at adjoining tables chuckled, too. Elin had once tried to write just
such a skit as Orla had described, and the results *had* ended up in the
repertoire -- as one more comedy/action skit. Rumor had it that Elin was
still trying to write ferrets and drama into the same play.
Orla whistled and held up three fingers. Moments later, one of the
two waiters in the Headless Sheep Inn glided through the throng with
three foaming tankards. She expertly set them in front of the three at
the table and whisked the empties away, dodging pinching fingers and
grabbing arms all the way back to the bar.
Silence fell at the table as the three started in on their new
tankards. Instinctively, they kept their ears open to the conversations
filling the room with noise. The information gathering was almost second
nature -- the more that the players knew about the townsfolk, the better
they could fit their next two days of plays to them.
One table was discussing the relative merits of two tailors in
town. Orla noted several colorful turns-of-phrase that she was sure she
could use at some time in the future.
Another table was debating whether the wares of one particular
farmer were worth buying. They went over in detail the way he plowed his
fields, the products he used for fertilizer, the way he harvested his
crop, even the conveyance he used to bring his wares to market. And yet,
all it boiled down to was that his prices were too high and his produce,
in the expert opinions of those at the table, just wasn't as fresh as it
could have been.
One table was relating a particular rumor that was circulating
concerning the activities of someone calling himself Warlord Adamik.
Various versions of the rumor were compared, and though each was
different, they all held an aspect in common: that Adamik had taken up
the mantle of Unifier of Farevlin. Every so often, someone would decide
that the 'thousand lands' of Farevlin needed to be one land again.
Adamik had been only marginally successful so far, having supposedly
conquered two or three of the southernmost states in Farevlin. While he
was, according to rumor, an accomplished war leader, he still had the
hurdle of the fierce independence of the Farevlin states to overcome.
Three people in the corner were talking about the charms of their
current lovers. They were so drunk that none of them realized that they
were all seeing the same person, and every one of them assured the
others that their own lover was by far the superior one. Elin was
intrigued by the situation, and started working out a skit based on the
premise.
Actual seduction, as opposed to tales of it, was sparsely
represented in the room. Kend supposed that townsfolk had better places
to spark than the Headless Sheep Inn.
The inn door opened to let in three stragglers, and at that moment
a bolt of lightning lit up the room, thunder crashing down very shortly
after. The three newcomers struggled to shut the door against the
suddenly howling wind, and Orla caught a clear glimpse of hail rattling
to the ground.
As the three new people squeezed in around the bar, conversation at
several tables turned to the weather. Most were simply glad that they
were inside, in good company, with such excellent entertainment as was
playing by the fire.
One table, however, started trading 'wild weather' stories, which
made Elin and Orla, the writers, take notice. Local legends were always
good fodder for skits, and the Troupe hadn't been in the south of
Farevlin very often.
The story that seemed most interesting concerned a figure known as
Skrnahl, the Wild Hunter. Not quite a god, but not mortal at all,
Skrnahl was constantly roving the worst nights. During wild storms,
during the dark of the moon, or in the dead of winter, Skrnahl rode his
giant demon stag across the land, with a crown of lightning circling his
head and fire flashing from his eyes and dripping from his sword. He
drove a flock of invisible hounds before him that cleared his path of
anything living. He especially hunted cheats, bullies, liars: people who
picked excessively on the weak.
Elin privately wondered about that: she guessed that stormy or dark
nights were good times to get rid of people who caused trouble, and
blaming it on Skrnahl served to divert suspicion and serve as a warning
to those of a similar ilk to the recently 'hunted'.
The evening wore on, and eventually it was time to leave the
revelers behind. Kend stood, and held out his hand to Orla. There was a
nervous pause, and Elin stood instead, taking Kend's hand. Kend said in
a confused voice, "But, it is Orla's turn tonight. You were last night,
Elin. What ...?"
Orla said, "Ah ... I'm not feeling well tonight, Kend, so I asked
to switch with Elin. So ..."
Kend look relieved, and said, "No, that's fine, just fine. I hope
you feel better, Orla." He drew Elin close to his side, and together
they walked to the stairs that led to the lodgings.
Not very long after, Naka ceased her playing, much to the
disapproval of the crowd. She walked over to the table and sat down
beside Orla. The crowd wanted Naka to play more, and as long as she was
in the room, they continued to implore her to take up her instrument
again. Naka was very tired, so with some brief apologies, she and Orla
made their way to the stairs as well, hand in hand.
========================================================================
Friendships of Stone
Part 5: Corambis and Taishent
by Mark A. Murray
Dargon, Naia 6, 1015
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 10-6
Corambis sat in a chair behind his large green table. Carved into
the table was the Wheel of Life. Nine constellations divided the wheel.
Eight of them, Knight, Oak, Harp, Ship, Maiden, Torch, Fox, and Falcon
divided the wheel into eight divisions, while the ninth constellation,
Mistweaver, took up the very center. Symbols inscribed on the outer edge
of the wheel subdivided the constellations. These symbols were Air,
Scepter, Fire, Sword, Earth, Shield, Water, and Crown.
He had cast many readings on the table. Judging by the crowd
outside that he had to push through upon his arrival, today would be no
different. He called to Thuna, his attendant, to let the first one in.
There were two rooms in the building: one for his castings and another
for Thuna. Thuna's room was much smaller and was used as a foyer for the
customers to pay or wait temporarily. There was no answer from Thuna
that she had heard Corambis, but she brought in a young man before he
could call out again.
"I would like to know if my wife has been with any other men," the
man said at once.
"Sit, and we shall see," Corambis told him. Once the man was
seated, Corambis pulled ten wooden discs out of a bag. Nine discs were
blue while one was red. "Under what sign were you born?"
"The Oak," the man answered. Corambis nodded, and placed the red
disc on the area of the Oak and placed the other nine in a pile on
Mistweaver. "Pick up the discs, hold them in your hands, think of your
question, and then drop them on the table. You may say a prayer before
throwing them if you wish."
The man scooped up the discs, gave a silent prayer, and dropped
them on the table. The discs bounced but once before settling on the
table. Corambis studied the discs, and then asked, "Do you have
children?"
"No. I am newly married."
"You have no children?" Corambis asked again, studying the young
man's face, trying to read any lies. He didn't care about the fact that
the man was newly married and unsure of his wife's fidelity. He was
interested in the casting and its meaning.
"No."
"Do you have younger brothers or sisters?"
"No, I am the youngest. I have two older brothers and one older
sister."
"Do you work with the earth?"
"I am apprenticed to a merchant that ships things out at the docks.
I am on a boat more oft than not."
"I am sorry," Corambis told the man. "I can find no answer here to
your question."
"How can that be? You --"
"It can *be*, because sometimes Fate chooses not to answer a
question," Corambis said, interrupting him. "Now go. I will read for you
another day, but today there is no answer here for you."
The man silently got up and left. Corambis was thankful that he did
not protest as he saw the anger on the man's face. Studying the discs
one more time, Corambis shook his head. Things like this occur every
once in a while. He hoped that it would not be like this the whole day.
He called to Thuna to send in the next one.
An older woman came in and wanted to know if her husband would be
all right. He was sick and bedridden. She worried about him. Corambis
told her to cast the discs. She picked them up, muttered a prayer, and
dropped them. They bounced and settled onto the table.
Corambis knew that the answer given was not for the woman, because
the discs were in almost the same place as before. He extended his
apologies to the woman and quickly ushered her out. Thuna watched as
Corambis softly pushed the woman out the door before closing it.
"Thuna," he said, turning to her, "Close the shop. I will take no
more customers today." Moving back into his room, he picked up the discs
in both hands and dropped them to the table. While they did bounce more
than once, their ending positions were very close to the previous two
readings. "Thuna!" he yelled. "Run and get Dyann. Quickly! There are
things happening, and I need his help." Corambis could hear Thuna get up
from her chair. She started to bolt the door shut to keep other
potential customers out when someone started banging on the door.
"Open the door!" a voice yelled from outside.
"I've closed the shop *and* gotten Dyann," Thuna said, smiling. She
had recognized the voice on the other side of the door. She walked to
the curtain that separated the two rooms and moved it aside so that she
could see Corambis. "Do you want me to let him in?"
"Yes, you impish thing you, let him in!" Thuna let the curtain drop
as she turned to open the door for Dyann.
"Corambis," Dyann yelled as he walked through the door, ignoring
Thuna. "I've had the strangest dream!"
"The castings I've done today have all been alike," Corambis told
him, not listening to Dyann's mention of a dream.
"Yes, yes, but this dream was truly strange. There was this field
of green wheat and -- the same?"
"Very nearly the same," Corambis replied. "Come, cast the discs. I
am anxious to see what comes of your tossing them."
"How many readings did you do that were the same?" Dyann asked as
he stepped over to the green table.
"Two readings for customers, and I threw them once," Corambis said
as Dyann picked up the discs.
"All the same?" Dyann asked as he dropped the discs onto the table.
They bounced and landed in nearly the same place as the previous
castings.
"The same as what you've just thrown," Corambis told him. "What
would you make of that?"
"Body," Dyann said, pointing, "is on Earth. Future Adversary is on
the Fox. A very cunning adversary, I would say about that. Body on Earth
... I don't know about that part, though. Course of Action is on the
Ship. Movement is needed soon, I'd guess. Spirit is on the Air. The
Heart is on the Maiden."
"Children," Corambis interrupted. "Heart on the Maiden is
children."
"Future Ally is on Mistweaver," Dyann continued. "The red disc is
on the Oak. We're Oaks. I'd say that we have a very powerful adversary
and our allies are either unknown to us or non-existent, but definitely
out of our hands. The Body on Earth with the Spirit on Air tells me that
someone will die. With the Course of Action on the Ship, it will be
soon. And all this involves children."
"I believe," Corambis said, slowly, "that it is the children who
are going to die. And soon. But I think the Ship is there for us, too. I
think we must act soon, but to do what, I don't know. Save the children,
maybe. Our allies are unknown because we have no control over that.
Either they will be there or they won't depending on their own actions."
"Children!" Dyann yelled, suddenly.
"What?"
"My dream. I dreamt of a house near a field of green wheat. Near
this house were several large men digging a grave. After the grave was
done, they picked up these stone statues and threw them in the grave.
These stone statues were of men, but the statues themselves were only
seven or so hands high. Those statues had to be children. A smaller
version of a man!"
"You think your dream and my castings are connected?"
"Yes!"
"What do we do about it?" Corambis asked.
"We find the house and save the children."
"A house with green wheat?"
"It was a dream. Dreams aren't always the same as reality. It's
probably a field of new, fresh wheat that's still green."
"It's Naia. Wheat hasn't even started to grow yet," Corambis
argued. "What else do you remember about your dream?"
"That's it," Dyann answered. "What I told you is all that I
remember."
"Not a very good start, is it?" Corambis sighed as he leaned back
in his chair.
"You know," Dyann said, "we've been all over the outside of Dargon
in our searches for herbs and such."
"And?"
"And we should know the farmers' fields fairly well by now. But I
can't remember where the fields of wheat grow."
"Oh! I see. You still think your dream really meant a field of
wheat. If you hadn't dreamt of wheat, you wouldn't have known what kind
of field it was. Spring fields all look alike. Hmmm ..."
"I remember a field of some kind of grass southeast of here," Dyann
said.
"It was a field of grass all right," Corambis retorted. "Just a
field of grass. That was the field the farmer wasn't planting on last
year. Remember?"
"Right. I remember it now. He asked us to pick up the rocks while
we were out searching for herbs and plants in his field," Dyann
chuckled. "It's no wonder he wasn't planting in it with all those rocks.
I wasn't about to pick them up for him."
"We did find some rare mushrooms, even if they were almost dead,"
Corambis said.
"That was all we found. Even on our way back when we searched the
pine grove, we didn't find a single mushroom there. And we always found
mushrooms in the pine grove."
"That's it!" Corambis shouted. "You've just found your field!"
"What? What are you yelling about?"
"Your green field of wheat! The field next to the pine grove was a
large hayfield, wasn't it? Not exactly wheat, but close enough. And the
pine grove is green year round."
"Come on then," Dyann said, heading out the door. "If your castings
are right, we don't have much time!" Corambis grabbed his cloak as he
followed Dyann out the door.
"Where are you two going now?" Thuna asked as the two older men
rushed past her. The closing of the door was her only answer. "From what
I overheard, a trip to Jerid's office is in order," she muttered to
herself. "Those two are most certainly going to get themselves into
trouble. Children in danger, hmmph. More like they're the ones going to
be in danger."
"We should get some of the guard," Corambis told Dyann.
"Bah, if we run across a patrol, we will stop and get them. But do
you really want to waste the time hunting one down?"
"No, I suppose not," sighed Corambis. "Not if time matters."
"Besides," Dyann continued, "what is there that two of Dargon's
most powerful mages can't handle?"
"Don't joke about that," Corambis warned. "We both know the
difference between common opinion and truth. Our reputations are going
to get us in trouble one of these days."
"Maybe," Dyann said.
"I see the causeway," Corambis said, changing the subject.
The two turned south just before the causeway onto River Road. Just
south of that intersection stood one of Dargon's main gates. The two
walked through the open gate. "I thought the pine grove was close to the
gate?" Dyann said.
"You say that all the time," Corambis replied. "It's about a league
away from the gate."
"It always seems closer on the way back."
"Everything always seems a shorter distance on the way back,"
Corambis explained. "It is the way of the world. Getting to one's
destination is ever rough, hard, and strewn with obstacles. It is
unfamiliar and takes longer to get there. Once there, the way back seems
easier and quicker, but of course it's easier. You've just gone over it
and all the obstacles.
You know it better now than you did before."
"We've walked this road to and from many times," Dyann countered.
"Why does it always seem to take longer to get there?"
"I was speaking metaphorically," Corambis replied.
"You were speaking something all right. Rambling metaphorically
more likely, though." The banter continued as they walked down the road.
"Look, there's the pine grove," Corambis said. "There is only one
house next to it."
"Yes," Dyann said. "Last summer that house was empty, too. What do
you wager that it's still empty now?"
"Your money," Corambis laughed.
"Quiet!" Dyann ordered. "Did you hear that?"
"No, what was it?"
"Listen." Both stopped on the road and stood quietly listening.
They could hear several birds nearby and the muffled sound of the river
Coldwell. Just as Corambis started to speak, they heard a scream.
"Sounds like a child or a woman," Corambis said.
"Child," Dyann replied. "Or my dream and your casting is wrong.
Come on." Dyann picked up the pace and headed for the house. When they
got closer, they could hear a child yelling and screaming and crying.
The sounds seemed to be coming from behind the house near the pine
grove. Both men hurried around the house.
When they got to the back of the house, they saw three large men
carrying off two children. One of the boys was screaming and crying
while the other boy was quiet.
"Stop!" Dyann yelled as he ran toward them. Corambis was right
behind him as he watched one of the men plunge a knife into the quiet
boy, causing the boy to scream. The other boy stopped kicking and
yelling and fell silent.
"I said stop!" Dyann yelled louder when the other boy started
screaming again. "In the name of Duke Clifton Dargon, I said stop!"
Dyann was surprised to see that the three men stopped and stared at him.
Then, suddenly, they turned and ran into the pine grove, leaving the two
boys behind.
"What did you do, Dyann?" Corambis asked as they reached the boys.
"Nothing but yell," Dyann replied. Corambis knelt by the fallen boy
and examined him. The sound of horses could be heard behind them.
"He's alive. Can't tell how deep the wound is, but he still draws a
strong breath." Corambis said.
"The militia," Dyann said. "That's why those men ran. The militia
is coming."
"Eh?" Corambis muttered as he stole a glance behind him. Sure
enough, four men on horses were drawing close. Behind them, he could see
more guards running on foot.
"It doesn't look good," Dyann said, looking down on the boy who was
stabbed.
"Dyann!" Corambis yelled. "Quiet! We'll save him!"
"Matthew?" the standing boy whispered.
"What's that?" Dyann asked. "Is his name Matthew or is that your
name?"
"It's his name," Ben answered as he knelt next to Matthew. "Is he
going to be okay? He's my best friend." Ben looked up, teary eyed, at
the two old sages.
"I can't tell how far the blade went into his body, but his
breathing is strong," Corambis answered, holding back his own tears.
"Still, we have to stop the blood flow. But we'll make sure he lives."
"You can't die, Matthew," Ben said. He reached out gently to feel
Matthew's stomach. Blood was still trickling out. "You can't die," Ben
repeated. He placed both hands over the knife wound and stared at them.
His hands began to glow. Corambis and Dyann just watched. Ben's hands
glowed a little brighter as he held them on Matthew's stomach. Matthew
moaned, but the flow of blood stopped.
"What's going on here?" Jerid said from behind them as he pulled
his mount to a stop. "Thuna shows up at my office telling me you two are
going to get killed and that there are children in danger."
Corambis and Dyann blocked Jerid's view so that he couldn't see
either of the boys fully. Getting off his horse, Jerid walked over to
them. "Who's on the ground, father?" As he stepped between Corambis and
his father, he saw who it was and quickly knelt to examine Matthew.
"What happened? Ben, are you all right? This is a knife wound, although
it's not very deep. We'll still need to get him to a healer. Who did
this?"
"Three men. They ran off into the pine grove," Corambis answered.
"Did you see that?"
"Yes," Dyann said. "He's a bit young and the wound didn't heal all
the way, but he's got the talent for a fine healer."
"See what?" Jerid asked. "The men running away? I saw them. Koren
took some of my men into the pine grove after them. You didn't see them
ride past you?"
"Ben just healed that boy," Corambis told him.
"How did you do that?" Dyann asked Ben.
"It was a gift from a friend," Ben replied.
"Matthew's going to live by the looks of things," Jerid said,
interrupting them. "Can you two get him to a healer? That wound still
needs to be attended to. I'm going to see about those three men that
ran."
"Sharin and Tara," Ben whispered.
"What's that?" Jerid asked.
"Sharin and Tara are in the house. In the cellar."
"Come on!" Dyann yelled as he turned toward the house.
"Father!" Jerid hissed. Dyann stopped and turned to his son. "The
boy needs a healer," Jerid stated. "You and Corambis are the closest we
have to that right now. I'll search the house." Not waiting for a reply,
Jerid ran to the house.
He cautiously opened the door and listened for sounds inside.
"Lieutenant?" a guard called his name from behind him. Jerid
ignored him and stepped inside the house. The guard followed. Both men
moved slowly through the room as they listened and looked for possible
attackers.
"The cellar," Jerid whispered as he turned the corner and saw a
door and a set of steps. "The girls are in the cellar." The guard moved
ahead into another room while Jerid looked up the stairs. Seeing and
hearing nothing, he turned back to the door and opened it. A set of
stairs wound down into the cellar.
"Tara? Sharin?" he called down into the darkness. He heard muffled
sounds, but it was too dark to tell what was down there.
"I don't see anyone here," the guard told Jerid as he returned from
the other room. "The front door is wide open. Whoever was here is gone
now."
"Find a lamp," Jerid ordered.
"There's one in the room we first entered," the guard replied. A
moment later, he returned with a lit lamp.
Moving down the stairs, the light flickered ahead of them and
slowly lit the cellar. Jerid saw both girls when he reached the bottom
of the steps. They were bound, gagged and dirty. The whole place smelled
like rotten food.
"Are you alright?" the guard asked as he started to untie them.
"Yes," Tara answered once the gag was gone.
"I will be," Sharin replied, "Once you get me out of here." She
started to stand but her legs gave out and she collapsed on the ground.
"Maybe not. My legs won't hold me." Jerid and the guard carried her
upstairs and outside to fresh air. Tara followed close behind.
Duke Clifton Dargon sat in his large, regal chair in his large
audience chamber in his keep. He listened to each of the people in front
of him as they told their story. Lieutenant Jerid Taishent related what
he knew about the whole incident first. Captain Adrunian Koren was next,
followed by Corambis, Dyann, Tara, Sharin, and finally Matthew and Ben.
Jerid explained that the house had been empty when he had searched
it, except for the two girls in the cellar. They had been dirty and
bruised, but otherwise fine. Koren told how he and the guards had rode
down the fleeing men and captured them. They had given up without much
of a fight. Corambis and Dyann kept interrupting each other in relating
what they knew, but they told of how they had come to the house and what
they had seen when they reached it. Sharin told Dargon that although
they had treated her coursely, they had valued her talents more than
anything else. Tara spoke of what she knew and how the events in the
house had transpired after her failed attempt at a rescue. Matthew and
Ben took the longest in their views on what happened. Matthew was still
wearing bandages, but he was healing quickly.
As Dargon listened, he realized he should have let the boys speak
first, but protocol insisted that the officers of the guard go first. It
was a long and involved story and he knew parts of it already. His
friend Lansing Bartol was standing to his right listening as well.
"Am I to understand that the kidnapper is still free?" Dargon asked
when all were finished relating their parts.
"Yes sire," Jerid replied. "He was not in the house when I searched
it.
He must have fled when we were outside tending to Matthew."
"And that he was not a noble?"
"Yes sire," Koren said. "We are certain of that fact."
"From the men you captured?"
"They told us everything they knew," Jerid said.
"Did you torture those facts out of them?"
"No sire," Jerid replied. "Once they were brought back to the gaol,
they told us everything they knew freely and of their own will."
"He is a thief and a murderer, milord, but not a noble," Koren
said. "He robbed a passing caravan, killing all and taking on the
identity of one of the murdered traders. From there, he used that
identity and told everyone he was a noble from Magnus."
"The men you captured told you that and you believe them?"
"They did tell us that, and we are checking on the truth of what
they said," Jerid replied. "We sent riders to Shireton, Heahun, and
Kenna to see if they recognized the trader's name. The story could be
true."
"I want to be informed of what you find as soon as you hear
anything," Dargon ordered. "It will be one less burden if it was a
noble. If it wasn't ... That's a situation I'd rather avoid confronting,
especially now that we need all the nobles' support for rebuilding the
town and duchy. The war has overtaxed us all. If this thief and murderer
isn't found, I don't want anyone to know that he wasn't a noble."
"Milord?" Jerid asked.
"Do you understand, Captain Koren?" Duke Dargon asked.
"No milord," he answered.
"Lansing?"
"Yes, milord," Lansing answered.
"Tell them what you think," Dargon said.
"If the thief was *not* a noble and word gets out, then every
thief, murderer, and bandit with some intelligence will attempt to do
the same thing. Whether they succeed or not would not matter. It could
become a very large problem and the duchy would be in more turmoil."
"Do you understand now?" Dargon asked. Koren and Jerid nodded.
"Good.
"You need to find this thief and make sure that he does not tell
anyone what he did. Do you understand that, also?" He leaned forward and
stared at the two men. "He is not to tell *anyone*," he emphasized.
"Yes, milord," Jerid replied.
"No one," Koren added.
"You two are to be commended on what you have done so far. But see
that you do finish this affair." Dargon leaned back into his chair and
turned towards Corambis and Dyann. "It seems that you two are to be
commended also. Your timely intervention saved at least one of the boys'
lives, maybe both. However," Dargon's eyes narrowed, "if you put
yourself in danger again without alerting my guard, I'll have you thrown
into gaol. Is *that* understood."
"It is, milord," Corambis replied.
"Yes, milord," Dyann said.
"Tara," Dargon addressed the young girl, "you are also included.
You're lucky to be alive. I will *not* have people going off on their
own and endangering the lives of others. You *will* alert the guard if
there is a next time. I pray there won't be, but if there is ..."
"Yes, milord," Tara said a bit weakly.
"Sharin," Dargon began, "I understand that most of your sculptures
were returned unharmed. I also am told that you are a very good
sculptor. When you get settled back in and find time, I would like to
commission a sculpture or two from you. I can't compensate you for your
losses for what happened in my town without raising some suspicions
somewhere. This is my way of doing that without arousing those
suspicions."
"Thank you, milord," Sharin replied. "I would be happy to sculpt
something for you."
"And you two," Dargon addressed Ben and Matthew. "Will our paths
always cross?" Dargon watched the confusion in the boy's eyes. "You
don't remember me, do you?"
"No, milord," Ben said. Matthew looked hard at Dargon and then
walked forward to stand in front of him.
"Yes," Matthew replied. "I do remember you now. We ran into your
guards. I recognized him," Matthew turned his head toward Lansing
Bartol, "but not you. You've changed. I remember a light in your eyes
and your smiles when we ran into you and your guards. You're ...
different ... The light's gone and you haven't smiled since we've been
here. And your arm is gone."
"Yes, child," Dargon sighed. "I have changed. The war changed us
all. I, too, remember the first time we met. It seems like a lifetime
ago. I wish that only my arm had changed, but ..."
Ben walked up to Dargon and threw his arms around him in a tight
hug. "Rachel says," Ben said, "that nothing changes that can't be turned
to a good light. She says someone called Cephas told her that. So you
see, the light in your eyes can come back."
"The innocence of children saves us all," Lansing Bartol laughed.
Dargon's eyes grew wide and then he smiled.
"If only the children were the rulers of the kingdoms," Dargon
chuckled.
"Come now, off my lap. Should anyone come in, I would have to throw
them in the gaol to stop the rumors that I've a soft heart."
"You wouldn't do that would you?" Ben asked as he stepped back.
"No," Dargon laughed. "No, I wouldn't." Dargon turned his attention
to Ben. "I've been told that you might have a healer's touch. I've
arranged for an apprenticeship with Elizabeth here at the keep." Turning
to Matthew he said, "And there's an apprenticeship in the militia open
for you."
Sitting back in his chair, Dargon relaxed a bit. "You've brought
some small light back into my life, both of you. I am thankful for that.
Should you ever wish to visit me, you have an open invitation to do so.
I'll see to it that my staff knows that."
"Thank you," Matthew replied.
"How about tomorrow?" Ben asked. Lansing laughed.
"You did say it was open," Lansing said.
"Not tomorrow," Dargon said. "I have a wife and a daughter that I
need to spend time with. It has been far too long since I did so. In
fact, today is a better day to do that. Lansing, you can fill in for me
for the rest of the day."
"Milord?" Lansing asked, his voice squeeking just a bit higher than
normal.
"It's time you started being more than just captain of the militia.
I think the meetings with the local merchants are a good place to
start," Dargon chuckled.
"I think I liked the other you better," Lansing replied. "Local
merchants, indeed. You always hated those meetings."
"You'll come to like them, I'm sure of it," Dargon said, a smile on
his lips and a twinkle in his eye.
========================================================================